Fear of Falling
by AFIS
Summary: Olivia and Elliot are forced to go to a weekend police conference and Olivia has to decide whether to act on her heart's desires or her personal morals.
1. Chapter 1

A/N-A lot of readers have been asking me to do something a little longer with my SVU fanfics so...complaining pays off. :) I'm not really sure where I want to go with this fanfic yet but I'll let my creativity and the characters take me where they want to go. Have fun reading.

P.S.-I'm trying to edit every chapter as I write so updating may take a little of time...or a small amount of time. This chapter may have some errors in it but I did a pretty good job, I hope.

Disclaimer: Don't own. 'nough said.

There were a total of 150 police officers in attendance to this annual get together of police improvement. I'm sure that in the "official" pamphlet that only the "official" police officers of her present company would understand, there was an official title of some sort that summarized the reason for the finest of NYPD's finest to be together in the same room for an extended weekend. All of the cops, excluding myself, were here for one thing, partying. Every year involved the same actions of excitement, euphoria, and the inevitable crash of drinking one's ass off. Besides appearing pompous, cops were excellent party starters.

Currently, however, the cops are in pompous mode with the honor, pride, and arrogance bubbling throughout the room like a tipsy newborn learning their first words. I wish I could be like them; idiotic and simple-mindedly focused on the impossible task of being extraordinary with no thought to how truly average and normal they really were.

Six of the idiots are watching the television around me amusedly while the other 100 plus officers in attendance were milling around the hotel lobby with an, oddly enough, dejected attitude. I knew all of their names; Detective Bradley from Queens who always found himself invited to any of the NYPD soirees in the same way a fifteen year old girl is invited to a college party, Sergeant Mitchell from my old beat in Manhattan was trying to keep his hands to himself and failing miserably, and the list goes on. Detective Bradley used to flirt with me in a semi-sexual way whenever I would come into his squad room looking for a lead in a case. The lead always ended up being nonexistent unless running around after a tip that ended up spreading all over the boroughs like smoke in the wind consisted of a good lead. When a case is hot the last thing I need is to run around like a chicken with my head cut off but I always returned back to him with case after case, even after his nonsense.

I slept with him once. It was a Wednesday. I was bored with feeling like I was trudging through the shitty refuse of pedophiles and rapists raised from the underworld while he was looking for something different from the usual companionship of paid escorts. Even now as I feel him resting his hand on my knee while talking about my caseload, my body is subconsciously moving away from his toxic touch.

I overheard one of his ex-girlfriends tell the Comforting Friend over the phone about how clingy Bradley was in a relationship and I thought nothing of it. A friendly frenzied fuck in a dark hallway hardly makes up a relationship but I should have about it. Clingy men and women don't have an off-switch; even a chaste kiss on a dirty dank subway train would be enough for the clingy drive to kick in for Bradley. I look up at him with disgust and he finally takes the hint and gets up from the seat beside me. I won't settle for anything less than perfection.

I can't help but wonder what these mindless soldiers employed by that melancholic two-faced mistress known quaintly as "law and order" could be so dejected about? Who wouldn't give their right arm for a fully paid weekend to sleep in 200 thread count sheets "cleaned" (if you consider cleaning to be dousing in scalding hot water every other day) by semi-legal immigrants. (Their semi-legal status granted because even though they were as illegal as chain-smoking a blunt in public, they were still improving the lives of the WASPs that owned this mega chain of hotels. If there is one venture law and order has not graced her presence with its business.) And don't get me started on the opportunity to eat from restaurants that habitually try to swindle occupants out of their hard-earned money by charging $15.67 cents for a salad. Only in New York City could increasing your probability of getting any number of STIs and being swindled by "the man" feel so like the American dream.

It doesn't help that every time I turn around every male officer in a five mile radius keeps trying to give me their phone number. Knowing Bradley he probably started rumors about "The Brunette with the Stick up Her Ass" in revenge against not wanting to start a relationship with him. Their pick-up lines ranged from cheesy to just plain fucked up: "Hey baby, do you want to come to my room later? I'll let you look at my Taser and if you're lucky I might even let you ride it. Room 3422, be there," and the ever infamous, "Hey. Hey are you a cop? You are? Well…want to fuck later? And if this does happen could you wear pantyhose? I have a slight foot fetish that I don't really want to talk about." Nothing makes her feel more special than being addressed like she was a human sex machine, her only purpose in life to fuck and be fucked.

After much effort I have mentally repressed these men into small nuggets of blurry tones of flesh blending into even more vague characteristics of the opposite sex. Why couldn't it be labeled somewhere that all men were disgusting, slimy, and sexually frustrated microcosms of the even more disgusting, slimy, and sexually frustrated society that I reside in? That would make a great birthday card for some unsuspecting 17 year old girl: "Happy Birthday! Men will now start to hound you because you can legally consent! Hope you like your cake!"

I can feel myself starting to hate everything about this necessary weekend into the depths of depravity. I always used to think that cops were the moral I-beams supporting the house of sanity and all that's right in the world. But then I joined NYPD and soon realized how utterly naïve I must have been to believe such bullshit. She learned the hard way that there are more snakes in the force than puppies and most of the time those puppies ended up turning into wolves. And they made sure to force this ideal down my throat all throughout the whole process of becoming a cop; while joining the police academy I'm forced to read pamphlets that use friendly propaganda to relax me into signing my civilian life away along with my sanity, while struggling to make it through the academy some drill sergeant is constantly berating me about "not being good/tough/emotionally unavailable enough" to handle being a cop, while hoping not to get shot on my first beat I cockily walk around with my new badge glowing in the neon lights of the night shift all in an effort to appear like an "ideal cop" not knowing that this is practically a bull's-eye for anyone with a grudge and a gun.

I didn't even know what a cop really was back then. They don't teach that in the academy, the real plight of a detective in the NYPD. The sleepless nights spent watching a suspect proclaim his innocence for the 50th time despite evidence to the contrary, feeling emotions on a daily basis that I had only read about in those cheesy one dollar novels with Fabio on the cover when I was in my teens, and the constant feeling of trust that I had to have for someone who I didn't know and usually reminded me of Disney movie villains.

It's so odd how my life resembles a Disney movie. Here I am sitting in a reasonably nice hotel with my pick of somewhat reasonable guys and girls who want to get to know me better and I'm just pushing them aside, waiting for…hell, I don't even know anymore. Was it companionship, sex, or that infamous and overly romanticized four-letter word called love? I hope it's not love.

Another thing that is infamous in the NYPD is detectives finding themselves in love with anything that has a pulse. My old patrol partner claimed that this was a response to the work that officers and detectives do on a daily basis but that's an oversimplification to say the least. If it was just a natural response to my daily responsibilities than how come the idea of sleeping around with anyone and everyone with a pulse makes my mind reel like I'm in Las Vegas riding the Manhattan Express coaster? I find myself wondering if it's not the idea of having mindless sex again with someone like Bradley that makes me want to physically retch but what if it's something deeper than that.

Staring at the endless droves of suited men and overly masculine women I can't help but feel my eyes drifting shut. As the men chatter around me about how awesome the Yankees are this year I feel my mind slowly start to shutter its conscious thought and open the blinds to her subconscious desires. He was always there, waiting for me like a warm blanket welcomes a child after a long plane ride from some exotic location like Miami or Key West. Sometimes he would have his back turned, other times he would be facing me with that goofy smile of his. He'd walk over to me the same way every time. His stride was always exaggerated like he was racing to tell me some stupid joke that little Eli made up on his own with that trademark goofy grin turning even more goofier like he was cracking up in his own head before he could even tell the punch line. I would always back up from him and end up falling backwards from a convenient ledge that my mind had created for this one moment of potential bliss. Falling from the abyss of my safe subconscious paradise and back into the bleak reality of the conscious, I would always try, in vain, to cry out to him to save me, grab me, or fall with me. He never did. He would just stand there at the ledge with that infuriating smile and with a shrug he would walk away like I didn't even matter. But who am I kidding, I don't matter to him. He has a wife and kids. His life doesn't include me anywhere in it except as his good cop to his bad cop at work.

I am just "the partner" in his grand scheme of things but that was hardly a problem until a couple of years ago. After the car accident with Kathy, the whole life flashing before your eyes moment, and Eli's birth all I can remember is that damn hug. That one action started all of this endless turmoil because I just can't see it for what it was, a simple outpouring of powerful emotions onto the first person he knew. I wanted that, no, needed that hug to mean more because it gave me a connection; a connection to Elliot, a connection to a new life born onto this world, and a connection to the hope that I needed to feel. The psychoanalyst side of myself keeps telling me that I was so starved for a connection to anything not related to the scum that I deal with on a daily basis that it latched onto that one moment between me and Elliot instinctually but that just doesn't answer everything for me. The why is clearly defined but what about the "what now?" I can sit in my room till the fat lady sings and still not have an answer to that question which happens to be the one question I want answered more than anything else in the world.

But my introspection will have to wait for another time. I feel a man blowing air in my face and probably expecting some kind of pre-pick up line dialogue that every man waits for so he can throw out another rendition of the lines mentioned previously. Am I the only woman on this planet who hates it when men sit in front of their face and expect? Expect what, you ask? I don't know but usually it revolves around their sexual organs or their mouths.

Upon opening my eyes, I see that my expectation of a guy visibly personifying the word "sketchy" is wrong in this case and it is _him_. The source of all of my late night heartaches is standing in front of me with that stupid goofy grin like he just figured out the cure to Parkinson's disease and all I can think about is how much I would love it if he would just hug me again. My hands are practically leaking sweat, my eyes are cringing like lemon juice just got squirted in them, and my calf muscles are starting to clench rhythmically (the last part would have actually been sort of pleasurable in different circumstances). I'm so pathetic, waiting on him to give me a hug but I still find myself wanting, craving, and moaning every minute of the day all for just one more second of alone time between me and him. I feel so much for this one man that it's starting to override all of the carefully arranged webs of logic and common sense I have built up around myself over the years. I want him to want me but I can't help but hate myself for wanting that. It wasn't because of his family (even though that was a substantial part of the equation) it was because I couldn't let myself fall like that. Going after Elliot would be the equivalent of choosing to jump out of a burning car going 120 mph or stay and hopefully keep the car under control enough to make a safe exit later down the road. Either way I'm going to get burned; either go after Elliot now and risk losing my career, the one connection I have to a family, and, most importantly, my best friend or try to keep my need under control until I found someone else who could substitute as a vehicle for my pent-up emotions. It was an impossible decision. Any lesser female would have crushed under the pressure but I'm hardly some waif. I need to see this through, for better or worse.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N-Hello, readers/reviewers/random wanderers of SVU fanfictions. Another chapter for all of you to, hopefully, enjoy. Thanks for reviewing and reading.

Elliot Stabler, the man that takes my breath away in the morning and gives it back to me when I fall asleep. He's everything a woman could want; he's attractive, intelligent, and undeniably strong physically and emotionally. A common day prince of New York City (with a slight anger-management problem but he's getting help for that…supposedly), men and women regularly flaunt themselves at him in an effort to get his attention (which would have worked if he wasn't such a prude). Elliot is never fazed though. If anything these unrequited potential love affairs thrown his way just seemed to solidify his marriage to Kathy.

I had always thought that Elliot was a relative prude but apparently that isn't the case when it comes to mildly attractive blondes like Dani Beck. Bradley told me about the supposed affair between the two of them when I was getting dressed after that one Wednesday of required release and I remember feeling relieved for Elliot and frustrated for myself. If I had been in New York City instead of traipsing around the Oregon countryside with eco-terrorists and Porter right at my heels Elliot would have done those things with me and not Dani "Ms. Convenient" Beck.

To anyone else with an unrequited love affair the idea of the love interest in question being intimate with someone else would be blasphemous but to me it was a sign that I had finally cracked through his seemingly impenetrable armor of fidelity to Kathy. Their casual fling was just a reaction to his unrequited love for me, obviously.

This all made total sense when I thought about it at two in the morning after a heavy therapy session with the Haagen-Dazs® and some Cadbury® Eggs. I don't actually believe that though. When I am alone in my bed, staring at some idiotic movie about ghosts falling in love with the spirit of an eighteen year-old girl, and gorging myself on heart-attack causing comfort food, I can't help but feel that Elliot loves me secretly but when I'm actually in my right mind the idea evaporates. I end up just feeling like that needy workaholic with no personal and professional boundaries and that scares me.

If there's one thing my drunken mess of a mother taught me it was to never be needy, never depend on anyone else but yourself. I don't even know if I can possibly want anyone else to want me as much as I want him to want me. But what did that want entail? The obvious answer of sex was a given but my craving for Elliot is so much more than a simple one-word answer. My constant craving was intertwined in a gamut of emotions ranging from obsession, lust, anger, hate, disgust, and need. I found myself obsessing over every word he expressed, lusting after his body, angered over the fact that Kathy had what I could never have, disgusted at myself for constantly waking up in a cold sweat with only one thought on my mind, and needing his ability to understand the job I constantly give myself too. Everything made sense except the need.

Half of the men and women in this conference want me to fuck them senseless in some manner or other so why did this obsessive need arise with Elliot? All of the people here were involved in law enforcement in one or another, the idea of needing Elliot exclusively was so idiotic that I could feel my hands crumple into fists in preparation to hit something every time it crossed my mind. Anyone else could easily take his place as my sexual partner for one of the three days they were forced to stay here but I find myself not wanting anyone else. I want Elliot or bust.

"'Liv, did you hear me," Elliot taps my forehead and moves his hand up to my hair and lightly tousles it (I hate when he does that. He has no idea how much effort goes into styling it every morning when your hands are shaking from another dream about him.). "_I just said_ have you seen the bar they've got at this place? I can't believe the city put the money up for this conference to be held here and can you believe they're footing the bill for the rooms too! Wow, remember last year when they put us in the place near one PP and everyone was too scared to even try to do anything crazy. Except Frank, you remember that transfer from Jersey; I think that was his name, Frank Obscetti? I still laugh when I think about the amount of girls' phone numbers he must have lost after they saw that tattoo we made him get. But overall that was a boring year wasn't it?"

"What? I'm sorry; I have no idea what you're talking about, Elliot."

"I asked you to marry me. Will you say yes?" Is he joking? I'm this close to passing out in a cold sweat and the awkward silence hovers around the two of us like a dog with separation anxiety.

Was Elliot serious? I'd gladly accept Elliot's bigamy in order to become his wife…even if it was just a joke. "How many glasses of free Baileys have you been drinking, Elliot? It must have been an awful lot to even jokingly put that question out there since you have a wife last time I checked. You better sober up because I don't like sleeping in the same room with men that are tipsy even if they are my roommate for the duration of this god-for-saken trip into Cops-R-Us."

"Come on…let's be little bit more positive about this trip. You might have more fun if you weren't so fucking tight all the time."

I can't believe he's saying this right now. I'm "so fucking tight all the time" because I can barely focus on anything but the fantasies of the two of us playing hopscotch in my mind all day, every day. "Elliot. Honestly, you have no idea why I'm so tight all the time."

"Then tell me. We're partners aren't we? Why won't you share anything with me? Why can't you just let me…help you," With the slight twitch of his lips in the upward direction, I know the fight is lost trying to stay mad at him. "I know some pretty good techniques for relaxing the opposite sex if you're interested. You know what Kathy calls my fingers after we've finished having sex?"

"For godssakes, Elliot, I don't want to know about your sex life with your wife of all people. Why do you always do this with me? After knowing me for how long you still act like I don't even feel anything for-"

"Woah…I was just having fun, 'Liv. I'm sorry, okay. I didn't know my jokes were such a big deal to you. I'll stop, promise. But…what about my earlier question," While saying this I can feel his hand lowering from my head to take up residence on my shoulder. "About marrying me? Let's say I were to divorce Kathy and leave the kids so you and me could run off together, make our own family of little Benson-Stablers…what would you say then?"

"Fuck you, Elliot." In a weak effort on my part I try to remove his hand from my shoulder but end up failing pathetically and moving his hand closer to my left breast than it was before.

"Come on, 'Liv. Don't tell me you've never pictured what our littlies would look like if we ever decided to give into our desires. Our first kid would be a boy; your hair, skin tone, and my body. God…we would make some fucking hot babies wouldn't we, Olivia," He chuckles and I can smell the Irish Crème rolling from his breath like an avalanche before crashing into my face. I find myself wanting Elliot even more now (irony). The dangerously stupid side of my mind can't help but feel an obsessive need to keep Elliot like this; drunk, reckless, and only for me. I want to believe that Elliot would never risk getting this hammered in front of anyone else but…I just can't. If I were to let myself believe that insanity, the last vestige of hope I have left in my soul to ignore this attraction to him would be worthless. It's kind of hard to pretend like you don't love someone when your heart has already made its mind up that it does.

"Elliot…you're going to regret everything you've just said to me in the morning, you know that right? Let's get you to bed before you start playing this game with someone else. Lean on me, okay?"

I roll my eyes in annoyance as he nearly falls over in his efforts to stand by my side. Elliot always plays this game with me (excluding the getting drunk part) when he gets bored. When the perps aren't talking and Cragen leaves, Elliot starts to get "friendly" with me by starting out with innocent teasing and then, if enough time has passed, he starts touching me. There's no other way to describe it as his hands start trailing from my shoulder and begin the slow as molasses trek to my thighs. He's never gone farther than that…yet. It's only a matter time until he does. It's only a matter of time till I let him.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N-These next two chapters are short so I figured I'd give the readers two chapters to chew on instead of one. Again, thanks for reviewing and reading.

Last week it was next to impossible to even be near Elliot after we were left alone in the precinct in a last ditch effort to get another kiddie diddler off the streets. I went to the washroom to freshen up in order to not look as if I was one step from collapsing on the floor in exhaustion after going fifteen hours at this guy in an effort to get a confession. While washing the water onto my face I saw his jacket coming into the washroom. I started laughing in response thinking he must be in the wrong washroom.

"Hey, El', come on! This is the ladies room, hence the lack of standing urinals and the 25 cent tampon dispensing machine." But he hardly stopped moving and if anything he covered the ground with impressive speed and covered my mouth all in one impossible motion. I struggled at first with half-hearted efforts to get him off me but I knew that he was much stronger.

While Elliot kept his other hand busy trying to restrain my mouth his other hand was busy trying to touch every part of my body all at once. I could feel my heart start to race in response to his attentions; my left hand grasped the cool stone counter of the faucet in a last minute effort to retain my balance as I subconsciously pushed my body back up against him. My right hand was less decisive about where it should be, at first it was holding onto the hand Elliot had clasped around my mouth but as his other hand started to descend lower and lower down my body I found myself moving my hand down to meet his. When he felt my hand reach his, Elliot's whole body seized up like his hand was allergic to my touch but he quickly continued the journey to his inevitable goal.

In all of my fantasies, my eyes were closed from the extreme amount of pleasure I would be receiving or they were locked onto Elliot's like a drowning victim to a lifeline but now that I was actually in the situation I found myself focusing onto those teasing fingers finding every part of my body that I normally kept to myself. This was my one moment to experience the Elliot I would never have, the Elliot that was just a figment of my boundless sexual imagination. To close my eyes from that image would prevent me from burning this one time into my mental soul for further replay and analysis at a later date.

We were truly a picture of erotic bliss; the vision of the two of us gyrating back and forth on a washroom counter like a bunch of teenagers in hormonal heat would have been a great snapshot for my collection…if I had such a collection.

No longer were my hands just passive participants in this centuries old tug of war between man and woman. My left hand had left the comfortable perch of the countertop and was trying to help Elliot in his effort to open my pants to allow him to have access to a place where few men have had such open access (I slept with Bradley with the lights off, the only article of clothing off my body was my shirt, and during the whole process I was practically directing him like Steven Spielberg. His access to my body was severely limited to say the least.). If I knew that this was going to happen today I would have gone to work in athletic shorts (Yes, I would have gotten my share of looks but…fuck that, I was going to have Elliot fucking me in next eighteen hours. Getting the looks would have been totally worth it.). With a couple of quiet sighs and whimpers, I had finally gotten him to the right spot without even having to readjust my clothing in any way. His hand clasped on my mouth loosened slightly and I let out a long and loud groan as a result. With a slight laugh, Elliot moved his now unneeded hand from my mouth to my neck. His aggressive clutches on my neck forced my body to seek further contact with the lower half of his body and with a shocked exhale I felt the defined ridges of his erection through his work trousers.

I couldn't believe he wanted this as much as I did at the time. I could feel myself groaning as I fell back to his firm embrace. Elliot not only wanted her but was willing to show it at any time, even if that meant finding some alone time in the squad washroom while they were supposedly getting a perp to confess. And as soon as that thought crossed my mind I felt myself falling backward onto the welcoming frigid embrace of the tile floor. My mind was wiped clean of all details except for the monochromatic flecks of tile as they began to swirl and twist together on the floor like a carnival ride on infamous rides from my childhood with names like, "Thriller" and "Tilt-A-Whirl."

Somewhere in this process I must have let out a loud groan of distress because next thing I know I saw Elliot racing into the washroom for a second time. "Olivia? What the- Why the hell are you on the floor? Are you alright? You obviously need to sleep, 'Liv. I can't have you slipping around while I'm trying to get this pervert off the streets."

"What are you talking about, Elliot? You were just in here, weren't you? I remember you being in here and doing…_things_ to me," I grab his shirt from his pants and can feel myself looking up at him pleadingly. "Please…please don't tell me I just imagined this."

Elliot looks at me quizzically but after his eyes slowly start to take in my mussed up hair, my flushed expression, and disheveled clothes with my pants buttoned down and I felt myself turn red in embarrassment. I raced into one of the stalls and thankfully he understood the message and left without asking me any embarrassing questions. These fantasies of mine are becoming even more problematic now because they are no longer fantasies safely lodged in my subconscious.

After what had happened in the squad washroom Elliot never once mentioned anything after I resumed the interrogation. Thank goodness for small miracles. But there was always this overwhelming sense of…edginess between the two of them now. I'm constantly embarrassed around him and Elliot's uncomfortable because I'm uncomfortable.

What's stopping this from happening again during this police conference weekend? If it does…I won't have the luxury of running away like I did that night in the precinct. I'll have to confront the problem head on, whether I would like to or not.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N-Sorry for the long wait between chapters. I'm suffering from SVU new episode withdrawals. Have fun reading and dom't forget to review after you've finished. Thanks for reading and reviewing.

Everything I had ever learned about love was, at best, tainted by my mother. Serena Benson was an alcoholic even to her dying day (she died falling down the stairs with a bottle of Jack Daniels in her hand). Now I know what you're thinking. I really did love my mother but it's hard to love someone when throughout your life they are continually holding you back as if that was what they were born on the Earth to do. She was my ball and chain and I was the prisoner that had no choice but to keep trying to move forward.

I remember one time I came home from school and found my mother in the kitchen, screaming at the top of her lungs like she had just murdered someone. My prepubescent brain thought that she was playing a game and, casually, I walked toward her with excitement flooding my bones (To this day, I can't understand why I automatically assumed my mother was playing a game. The last time she played a game with me consisted of Patty-Cake and Down-Down-Baby.) I can't help but laugh as I reminiscence about these traumatic memories of my mother partly because of how stupid I must have seemed, running happily toward my drunken rampaging bull of a mother.

When I had finally walked the length of the kitchen and started to hold my hand out to my mother's shaking frame she did something that even to this day I'm still shocked by. Looking back, I honestly wish that she could have let me gone on believing the fantasy I had carefully constructed of my mother and her "issues" (In the 70s/early 80s being an alcoholic was looked on in the same way as having the flu. You were locked away during a binge but overall still expected to go through the motions of normal society after the said binges occurred. My mother was fine going through the motions during her sober periods but the main problem was that these sober periods happened less and less with each passing year.).

A couple of years before that fateful day in the kitchen, my mother "accidentally" hit me across the face so hard that a gash formed on my forehead that required stitches. She threw me out of my home and told me to deal with the problem before I got blood on her carpet. I stumbled onto the front steps of the apartment building with blood leaking everywhere and finally one of our older neighbors stopped me. He got me cleaned up and gave me one of his old shirts before asking me the inevitable. I tried using the line that I had memorized but he looked at me with that friendly smile and, stupidly, I felt my emotional barriers crumpling and found myself babbling about everything that my mother had done to me. I begged him not to tell anyone because if he did my mom would hurt me even more (ironically, when I came home with the nice man's shirt on, my mother spanked me anyway because "I look even more like _him_").

Even after this incident I kept the fantasy of my mom being "just like all of the other parents" alive; all of the drunken rages that were lashed out on me because I looked like a man I had never even known or seen, the times my mother left me at school while I was forced to walk home in tears while all of the other parents whispered and the children mocked, and whenever I was forced to call the landlord to tell him that the rent was coming even though I knew that my mother was spending the rent money on another bottle of "Grand Marnier" that dream was always the driving force pushing me to continue. Despite the verbal and physical abuse my mother needed me to be there. It may have been ignorance on my part but I couldn't help but believe this. Why? Maybe it was because that my love for my mom stemmed from this nonsensical need and, despite the abuse, I needed to feel some sort of love toward the only mother I'd ever known. No matter the reason, that one Wednesday of my sixteenth year when I was returning back home after school everything changed for the worse. On this day my mother let me know for the first and last time how she really felt about me. It all started with the typical dialogue that my mother and I had been giving each other seemingly since the day I was born.

My mother turns around to face my expectant face with a drunken scowl. "Why are _you_ here? God…you…shouldn't be here. You always screw everything up just like he did. Fuck, you really are his child aren't you?"

"Mommy, what are you talking about? Did Ms. Petersen call you about my grade in English? She told me I could make it up with afterschool tutoring…"

When I was a child, my friends were nonexistent (the mocking that I mentioned earlier pretty much made sure of that) so my obsession with having a great grade point average took their place. But it honestly wasn't like I had much choice in the matter; my mother demanded perfection from me when it came to my grades as if low grades reflected badly on her reputation. Everything below an A was considered failing to my mother and I couldn't bear to disappoint my mother, at least until I went to college at Siena (my mother couldn't control me when I was hundreds of miles from her).

Suddenly, my mother's drunken scowl turned into a fearful smile and she began to give that bloodcurdling scream for a second time. These screams however were even louder than the last ones and were tainted by an invisible weight of paranoia that I quickly learned from experience accompanied these drinking binges.

She lunged at my throat with that same banshee scream echoing out her mouth and began to choke me. Oddly, I remember never being truly scared of her choking me because of that idiotic love I had for my mother that depended on her needing my existence. My face began to turn the same bright crimson shade that develops when my mother spanked me for defying her, my brown eyes became black as I tried to half-heartedly struggle against my mother's seemingly indefatigable grip, and all of the blood in my lower extremities started to pulse against the skin in my hands and feet. Despite this though my heart was telling me that she would stop; my mother would soon see that she was hurting me and after she let me go, she would cry, kiss the bruises around my neck away, and I would proceed to ease her out of her binge like I always do.

I was wrong.

I hardly remember much after that. The doctor that had been assigned to me after I was rushed to the hospital told me that if it wasn't for my mother's loud screams that alerted Mr. Edwards (an old and overly curious neighbor that lived in the apartment next to us) to call the paramedics I would have surely have died. The social workers came soon after trying to get my statement in that placating manner that only social workers have. Unlike the time with the nice old man, I kept my mouth shut about what happened until the swarm dissipated away in frustration. It didn't help matters when my mother tried to make up some half-baked tale that some kidnappers came into the kitchen (apparently they climbed up the fire escape…to the tenth floor and through the window which was roughly 12x15 inches) and tried to take me away. Her screams were all in effort to stop them from kidnapping me. As I watched my mother spin this story together I realized I had never felt as emotionally drained as I did in that moment. After that I knew I could never trust my mother again. My mother didn't need me any more than she needed the empty bottles of vodka and scotch I annually had to clean up from underneath my mother's vomit and piss stained mattress (when my mother really went all out with her drinking she would regularly forget to make it to the bathroom). Without that need our relationship didn't just fade away like a sunset, it burned down like a model city built of toothpicks trapped in a fire.

That was my first experience with love. The truly horrible thing about my mother and me was that because of the way our relationship ended I couldn't truly move on with anyone else in a beneficial way. My first real boyfriend in high school broke up with me because I was "too distant" and my last serious relationship with Kurt Moss ended because I couldn't trust him enough with the boundaries of my job. My love life is practically nonexistent because of my inability to let myself potentially get hurt again.

Given my track record with men I can't let Elliot know how I feel about him. If Elliot knew he'd do everything in his power to try to placate my problem with soothing words and soft caresses and I honestly don't want nor need that response from him. Despite all of his teasing, I know that Elliot cares for me in a platonic sense but sometimes I wished he wouldn't push it so much with all of that damn teasing. There is only so much I can take before I crack and do something I'll end up regretting.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N-I'm not happy with this chapter and I personally feel like it could be better but I'm getting so exasperated with this story and myself. It also doesn't help matters that I'm starting to feel Mr. Writer's Block knocking on creativity's door, so I'm going to try and wrap this story up with the next chapters. Anywho...sorry for bitching about my problems. Have fun reading and thanks for all of the supportive reviews.

I'm beginning to hate Elliot Stabler for making me carry him up fifteen flight of stairs, (He refused to use the elevator because he claimed "the slight vibrations would make him throw-up" like he was two-year-old.) having to support his lazy ass as he nearly fell on top of me as we _finally_ reached the room we were sharing together, and having to clean up his vomit after he failed to reach the bathroom in time.

After cleaning up the floor the best I could, I grabbed Elliot off the floor and tried to gently place him onto the bed closest to the bathroom and the door. Even though I wanted that bed (and had declared it mine by putting my bags on it earlier) I knew it would be best to let El' have it in order to not risk getting covered in semi-digested food and bile during the middle of night when he would inevitably trip on the corner of the bed to get to the bathroom.

Just like I used to do with my mother, I proceed to take Elliot's shirt, pants, shoes, and socks off his body. I can't decide whether to take his boxers off also but with two yanks Elliot makes the decision for me and proceeds to cover himself with the sheets of the bed.

"Oh my," My throat closed after seeing even the briefest glimpse of Elliot's penis. As I tried to avert my eyes from the sight like a bunch of teenagers watching a home pregnancy video I can't help but feel ashamed at my reaction. Even a brief glance at Elliot's flaccid friend was enough to make my legs quiver expectantly. "Aren't you kind of cold like that?"

With a frown and a slight squint over his shoulder, Elliot looks me over like a Picasso. "I wouldn't be if you came in here with me."

"Or, second option, I could just turn the thermostat up. It does feel like they've got it set to sixty in here," Elliot quickly lifts his body up from the bed and, with a slight wobble after moving his drunken brain too quickly, he grabs my trembling hands. "Elliot…I'm not going to be your mommy and watch over you while you're passed out drunk. I have to catch up with some people downstairs."

"Screw that, 'Liv. You know as much as I do that you hate going to these stupid gatherings every year so stop trying to be the social butterfly we both know you'll never be. It's not becoming," Elliot groans slightly and moves his head back toward the pillow. "Fuck…my head is one step away from exploding. Help me out here, 'livia."

"Help you? I'm not going to alleviate your punishment for drinking too much. I don't understand why you even do this in the first place, Elliot. Every time we come to one of these things you always, without fail, get drunk and spend half of the weekend sleeping off a hangover while I'm forced to watch you sleep it off. Why don't you just stay home instead of going to these things? Is getting drunk without the disappointment of your wife and kids so exhilarating to you, Elliot? If it is then you're just as sick as the people we collar every day."

Elliot lifts himself to his elbows and looks at me furiously before crumpling back to the bed. I know I shouldn't be interrogating Elliot like some common criminal but I'm tired of all of this going indecision between what is right and wrong. I need him to react to this unrequited attraction that I have for him. I don't want to run away with him and live in a fantasy but something has to change. I'm slowly falling apart and, if Elliot's drinking isn't a sign, so is he. I hate seeing him drink himself into these stupors without at least knowing the reasoning behind it.

"You want to know why I act this way, Olivia," Elliot gives a shaky sigh before trying to continue. "I can't describe it, 'Liv. Being around you reminds me of all those times with Kathy before we started fighting about diaper brands, baby formulas, and how to balance grades with athletics. And I can't have that, 'Liv. You don't know what it's like to dread waking up in the morning because you know that you're trapped between a love that never existed but feels like it's been there all along and a love that's falling apart quicker than I can put it back together."

Now I'm really starting to hate Elliot. Why does he think he's so high and mighty compared to everyone else? I've felt more pain in my life than he could ever know how to deal with; from my emotionally nonexistent mother being raped by a father that committed suicide to my current obsession with men that are unavailable, my life is one big billboard for fucked up. I know my mouth is opening and closing like a fish with no air but I can't stop it. I'm literally shocked silent by Elliot's sudden deluge of turmoil.

Elliot crosses his right hand over his eyes. "I'm sorry…I shouldn't have let this all on your shoulders. I'm sure you have your own problems."

"It's alright, El'. I've been thinking about us a lot lately also," I chuckle before sitting down on the bed beside him. I can't control my hand from moving out to his sheet covered leg and I feel myself smiling after my fingers experience his slight shiver in response. "I didn't know you felt so strongly about all of this. I would have brought it up sooner instead of letting it build up like this."

"No, even if you brought it up sooner I wouldn't have been ready to talk about it."

The silence sets in between us.

Through the cheap fabric of the hotel sheets I can feel Elliot's left hand start to flow toward the thigh where my hand still resides. Slowly his hand moves between and suddenly I find myself grasping onto Elliot's hand through the rough barrier of the cheap sheets. God, if this hotel had spent a little more money on the details I would be able to feel every nuance of his palms but instead I'm forced to focus on the scratchy burlap quality of every stitch in these sheets. The silence between us continues to extend as every breath he gives evaporates from the air and rains into my ears. Our bodies start to subconsciously shift toward each other in preparation the rustling of the wind battering the windows melds with the rustling of the bed as more weight is put onto its springs.

We haven't even done anything yet and it feels like I'm already in the climax of an extremely good movie. Elliot takes his left hand from off his eyes and for the first time I'm able to see not just my partner or my best friend looking at me but also the soul of a man who wants to do this as much as I do. I need to hear him say it. "Elliot, you realize what you're doing to me, don't you because if you don't want this to happen then I can just go downstairs and pretend this never happened before you make a mistake."

"Olivia?"

"Yes?"

His eyes narrow in my direction for the second time. "Do you think that this will be a mistake?"

"I don't know, Elliot. I've wanted this for so long that finally acting on it just seems so blasé," I sigh knowing my idiotic mumblings aren't helping me or Elliot understand the thoughts that I have wanted to express to him for so long. "I spent so long wanting you to want me that the idea of it happening is just crazy to me that I just can't help but think about…the repercussions."

"You mean Kathy and the kids, don't you?" Elliot's left hand stops stroking my hand through the sheets. As he turns his head away from me I notice his eyes stopping toward the vibrating stack of clothes thrown haphazardly on the floor. We both knew who was calling and just the thought of _her_…my stomach clenched with a vice grip and tears flowed into my eyes as if my emotional levees had broken into a million pieces. I find myself leaning forward trying to regain some kind of a connection with Elliot. This isn't fair, never have I ever wished the death of another woman like I did at that moment.

"El', please don't shut down on me. I've been waiting for so long for some resolution of this thing going on between us and I don't think I can make it if you just turn away now. We need to figure this out, together," After hearing the phone begin that annoying vibration rhythm for a third time, I grab the phone out of Elliot's pants pocket and turn it off. "We don't have to talk about Kathy or the kids but it's always going to be there, underneath the surface of every touch, caress, or kiss between us. You're married, nothing can change that."

He looks back at me and moves his right hand toward the remaining inches of space between us. Elliot's other hand resumes its conversation through the sheets to my own hand and I release a breath that I didn't even know I was holding.

"At this point, I honestly don't give a rat's ass about Kathy or what my kids will think. I need to do this with you and yeah, it may not be right, but the need is overwhelming the morality right now," Elliot's right hand grasps the remaining inches of sheet before continuing. "Infidelity is wrong but so is sitting around feeling like I'm trapped between a constant war between want and responsibility. If you want to choose the moral highroad than I'll pretend what we've done together never happened and drink myself to an early grave but I can't keep sitting in the middle, Olivia. I've made my choice; I want this, I want you for this one weekend. I don't want to run away to Vegas with you, I just want to get this feeling to go away."

A small part of my soul died after hearing him say those words. The realist side of myself kept telling me that Elliot would never abandon his whole livelihood for me but the romanticist just wouldn't let the dream of me and Elliot walking down the aisle, covered by a wave of happy energy released by everyone at the precinct, and a never ending hurricane of rose petals.

I know that Elliot's thinking is rational but I don't want to be rational with him but I also don't want to bite the hand that's feeding me so I'll take this one weekend over nothing at all.

"I don't know if I can be that one-night stand that you come to when you're drunk, Elliot."

He laughs so loudly that I'm worried that the other occupants of the rooms will come knocking on the door soon. "You're hardly a one-night stand and I'm hardly drunk, 'Liv. I' sure as hell tipsy but I'm absolutely not drunk."

I laugh briefly and, for the second time, an awkward silence develops between us as our hands continue a private conversation. Elliot's right hand slithers across the sheets and starts playing with my fingers. I can't help but wonder if he's asking or practically begging me to reciprocate his advances. Every touch is light and miniscule but demands my entire attention. I realize that Elliot's still trying to give me a way out by not pushing the envelope yet but I don't want a way out.

As I grab his hand from its trek up my arm I clench his hands before he has the wherewithal to remove them from my grasp and smile at him. I don't want to speak to ruin this moment between us and he smiles back at me in return. This is it. It may not be everything I wanted but having Elliot all to myself for three days is bliss compared to sleeping beside him without the possibility of any touching except for the accidental touch here and there. There would be no turning back from this but I know Elliot would be right there beside me to weather the storm. I've got his back and he's got mine.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N-Hello, readers. This is the last chapter and I'm just so glad all of you have stuck with this lovely little fanfic for so long. This chapter is dedicated to all of you guys/gals. Have fun reading because I had a lot of fun writing this.

* * *

><p>That first time me and Elliot fucked (because, honestly, that's what it was) in that hotel room was…surprising to say the least. I don't know if it was the stress of finally getting his heart's desire alone without the precinct's nosy eyes, (you think Munch is bad…try Fin; even when an inkling of alone time that isn't related to a case comes up for both me and Elliot, Fin is always right there) the excitement of finally getting to see my most intimate parts of my body, or something else entirely but Elliot was having a hard time keeping an erection long enough to give either of us some release.<p>

As I sit here on the soiled and sweaty sheets (soiled mainly by my tears of frustration and not any of the obvious sexual fluids that come with having great sex) while staring up at the texturized ceiling that's seemingly mocking my soul while bringing even more attention to the semi-used condoms thrown haphazardly onto the floor as they glistening in the subdued fluorescence (apparently the hotel decided having guests fumble around in "mood lighting," aka semi-darkness, was a great way to cut costs). Sex wafts through the air as I look over at Elliot's face. He's understandably frustrated at his performance (or lack thereof) but as his eyes finally return my gaze I can tell that he's just as amazed as I am that we actually did this (or tried to because of Elliot's performance anxiety).

I want to do something with my hands; touch his face, hold his hands, play with the fine hair that's sprinkled on his chest, something other than stare at him like he's the Pope. Our connection to each other has been officially cemented into each other's hearts now after all of this but I find myself seeking his touch even more than before.

Before I get the chance to speak, Elliot beats me to the punch. "I'm so sorry about my problems with my 'equipment.' You know I'm a little tipsy which makes it a little difficult for me to focus on staying hard long enough-"

I lift myself from the sheets and straddle his legs, stopping his explanation and preventing further movement. I don't normally do this to men but, to my embarrassment, I find my body craving to see him orgasm in an effort to make this real. I didn't even care about my own needs at that moment, it was all about Elliot. If he decides after he sobers up tomorrow that this was all a horrible decision brought on by alcohol then I can at least have this one memory to cherish; Elliot Stabler groaning my name out of his clenched teeth as his finite rivulets of hot sperm flow over my hands, face, and breasts. Just the idea of it makes me groan with mini-orgasmic contractions of my muscles.

"What are you doing, Olivia?"

"I'm currently straddling your legs in preparation to give you a hand job but if that's a problem, now's the time to speak up," I can't help but smile from Elliot's strangled groan in response to my question. "I didn't think it would be."

With a firm grasp of Elliot's quickly hardening member I begin to unconsciously lick my lips at the sight of Elliot being so obsessively wanting of every touch she gave; his hands were full of those same soiled sheets while his veins strained against the muscles rippling from his arms as they locked onto my equally strewn about hair. Each tug caused him to push up against my tensed thighs as he tried to receive even more friction from my slowly moving hands. An unceremonious moan exited the closed gates of my mouth as I witnessed this display of pure masculine beauty that was Elliot. Elliot was trying his best to keep his eyes open and appear unaffected by my actions but the massive pleasure he was receiving was making it impossible.

I never thought I would love seeing a man like Elliot give himself totally to me but god damn it was exhilarating watching his entire body writhe in an effort to obtain even the lightest contact to his erection. He was having no problem keeping himself hard this time, I noticed with a secret thrill running through my loins.

Minutes continued to pass as I pleasured Elliot into submission but because of the lack of lubrication in my hands it was becoming next to impossible to continue at the pace I had set earlier. I'm fairly inexperienced at giving hand jobs but it doesn't take a scientist to figure out that a dry hand on a burning hot erection equals an uncomfortable and embarrassing rash for both parties involved. I look around clumsily in an effort to find something that I could use as a temporary lubricant (I was extremely tempted to dunk my hand into the glass vase with the orchids to use that plant goo as lube…I was that desperate.) before Elliot notices that my hands have slowed down in their efforts to get him off. To my dismay, however, there was an infinite supply of towels with the monogrammed initials of the hotel blazoned across the front (Have you ever wondered why they have so many towels in hotel rooms? I mean, come on, do they expect the residents to drown in the low pressure shower that smells conspicuously like it was made in the same factory that scented soaps, lip gloss, and crayons are made in?) and the refrigerator wasn't even plugged in so using ice or water was out.

As I looked around stupidly trying to find some sort of temporary lubricant, I found myself wishing for some nosy neighbor to knock on the door so I could have some reason to get up and walk to the bathroom. My frustration must have been transmitted to Elliot because he opens his eyes and lifts himself up to my height. "Olivia…do you need some help?"

"No, I'm just…not used to playing with something this big I guess," I wasn't just lying to get out of the fact that my hands were as hot as our bodies. His friendly penis had been transformed into an angry monster, complete with pulsating veiny brilliance and a majestic shade of eggplant. I wanted to please him even more after seeing this display of masculinity that was just for me.

"Sweetheart," Elliot chuckles before lifting his hand to Olivia's face and his other hand extends down to my soaking sex. His fingers begin to play a tune on my inner muscles and I make a shocked yelp in surprise which quickly turns into a pleasurable groan of satisfaction. "Just use what you got, Olivia. You can't really get it wrong…unless you use your mouth. I swear to all that's holy that if you use your mouth, I'm going to cum immediately."

He proceeds to lift his hand away from my center but I push him right back before he has a chance to. With one confused look, Elliot's hand remains lifeless on the outside realm of my sex but with a couple of thrusts onto both of our hands, his face becomes more animated as he recognizes the intent of my actions. Before Elliot gets too lively, I move his hand out of the way and dip my right hand's fingers into my sex and gather up as much of my fluids as I can before resuming my original task of giving Elliot an excellent hand job. I see his face practically fall open in shock as he witnesses me touch myself briefly before resuming his earlier actions; his cock twitches in my hand and, in response, pre-cum begins to drizzle out of his monster briefly before an eruption of the clear fluid flows onto Elliot's sex, onto her hand, and drops to the sheets to be absorbed by the already soiled and sweaty sheets.

Because of my secret excitement in watching Elliot get closer and closer to his climax, my orgasmic high was near as well. Elliot's fingers were playing show tunes in my increasingly rhythmical clenching sex while I was playing tug-of-war with his leaking erection. I didn't ever want this to end but I knew it had to at some point. Elliot was doing a surprisingly good job at holding off the urge to ejaculate at this point but with his hand practically dripping in my feminine fluids as he probed my most intimate parts I could tell that he was on his last leg. I sped up my actions and increased the speed of my rub-and-tugs of his burning sex and suddenly I heard him give one last groan of release before I saw the screaming streams of white globules flow outward from his monster's angry purple head and onto my face and breasts. The stream was everlasting as it pulsed continuously for hours it seemed. I was so surprised at the vigorous flow that I hardly tried to clean up the fluid until the display was over. Elliot's slight sporadic thrusts of his lower pelvic area slowed until; finally, they stopped all together. I was pleased to lick every part of myself that was covered in his ejaculate but I suddenly felt Elliot's fingers thrusting again after his brief break.

God, I didn't realize how close I was until his fingers resumed and I felt my heart racing in a tempo I had become quite familiar with on those lonely nights with just my fantasies to keep me company. Either Elliot was a much better lover than he made himself out to be or I was just extremely turned on by my earlier actions but it felt like my orgasm wasn't just around the corner but practically knocking down the door to my mind. However, despite how close I felt, I knew Elliot's actions weren't going to be enough. I needed a little more contact; something else to take me other the edge. Grabbing Elliot's hair, he looked at me with that infuriating smile and winked before pushing grabbing me by the waist and pushing me onto my back. Now, instead of straddling his legs, I was straddling his waist. I loved Elliot's forcefulness but it still wasn't enough and with a moan of dissatisfaction, I tried to get more contact from his hands back to my sex but Elliot was having none of that. He lowered his body and held my body on the bed with his powerfully strong hands. I was so strung out on my near-orgasmic high that I was honestly hoping he would fuck me with the remote control to the television before I instantaneously combusted into flame and ashes.

"Elliot…please…fuck me, kiss me, spank me…do something," With a slight struggle against his hands I nearly yelled in pent-up frustration. "I'm dying."

That annoying smile was back and I knew that I was in trouble. "Don't beg, 'Livi…I'll do things to you, 'Liv but I need to know one thing. Could you answer that for me or is your mind so shot that stringing together words into one cognitive sentence too difficult for you?"

I groan, hoping it'll be enough of an answer to let me reach the orgasmic heaven.

"I'm going to take that as a yes," He clears his throat and puts on a mock serious face. "Is this weekend arrangement just about sex or is it something else?"

"Didn't I already," Elliot's talented fingers start waltzing around my clit which both prevents me from answering and provokes a moan and weak shuddering from my already exhausted body. "Didn't I answer this for you earlier?"

"No, Olivia. You listened to me spill my guts while you sat there playing the understanding friend role."

I couldn't give him an answer to that question when my entire body was focused on getting that one release that it was craving for. "El', please…just make me feel the way you did earlier and I promise I'll answer all of your questions. Just…please."

Elliot moves away from me and pushes me aside in the same way that a child throws away Christmas toys by the middle of February. He gets up from the bed with a frown that made my whole body cringe in response.

"Elliot, what's wrong? We haven't finished," I said, near tears. "Why are you doing this? It's not fair."

"I'm only treating you how I've been treated, Olivia. I can't have sex with you if we're on two different pages on what this sex means. I don't love you, Olivia. I can't love you without hurting my wife and I'm not going to hurt Kathy because you want to fulfill some half-baked fantasy of the two of us becoming a couple. This is real life. I have responsibilities and so do you."

I furrow my brows and look over Elliot's body. "God, I'm getting so _fucking_ tired of hearing your self-pity. Is it your default emotion with everything you do or is it your default when you're with me? Why can't you just let me have this weekend without…fucking everything up like you always do?"

I stare into his eyes as he continues to stare into my own. I can barely breathe as he walks back toward me and lowers his body onto mine. All I wanted in that moment was to move away from his body heat but I couldn't.

"Olivia. Tell me what I want to hear and I'll leave you alone. Does this mean more to you, 'Liv? Do you love me," I close my eyes as he whispers nonsensical phrases into my ears.

I lift my arms up to grab his face and my eyes close. Not only are my fantasies meeting reality, but now so are my nightmares. Elliot is asking me the one question I can't possibly answer but I know that I have no choice. It was time to face my fear of falling in love with Elliot head on. I reopen my eyes and sigh deeply. This story of ultimatums, responsibility, and love was going to end in heartache but I honestly didn't care about heartache anymore. I'd rather leave my job than keep dancing around the constant sexual tension between me and Elliot but my mind is telling me something different.

"Elliot, of course I love you and I'll always love you regardless of how inappropriate it may be but that love will always be platonic," I say as I feel the tears beginning to flow down my face.

With an exhausted sigh, Elliot finally lifts himself up from my body. "That's bullshit."

"Yeah, I know but…I can't ruin our lives over an attraction. Please, El'," I try to gather my emotions before continuing. "Leave this alone and let me move on with someone else. Don't make me say what I really feel."

"Well, I can't do that, Olivia. I can't just ignore that you love me and continue this charade of friendship. What do you want to do about this besides getting each other of our systems?"

"Nothing, Elliot. I don't want to do anything except our agreement for this weekend."

"That's not enough, Olivia. How does that solve the problem?"

I can't answer that and Elliot knows this. For the first time since I was partnered with him so many years ago I feel absolutely no tension between the two of us. My fear of falling in love with Elliot was directly related to my fear of telling him how I really felt and now that I had told him (with little fanfare or drama) everything began to fall into place.

I was finally free of fear. I was finally free of Elliot Stabler's hold over me.


End file.
